Passing By
by riveriver
Summary: (all the monsters in my head). Jacob decides to leave his life behind *before* he opens that wedding invitation and note from Edward. Leah follows.
1. i

**_Disclaimer_** _: Everything and everyone you recognise is Meyer's, I'm just giving them bloodsucker-free lives._ _No copyright infringement is intended, etc etc._

 ** _Warning_** _: Wolves have filthy mouths, and dirty minds. I also don't have a beta, or a Leah to kick me up the arse and tell me to get a grip and **finish** other things before giving in to new ideas._

 ** _Credit_** _: The following excerpt has been lifted from the epilogue of Eclipse ('Choice'). There's also a few lines of speech from Billy which have been used. Title and lyrics are from 'Slow and Steady' by Of Monsters and Men._

 ** _A/N:_** _This is only going to be three, maybe four chapters of a budding friendship. I don't often write in this style, so please be gentle with me. It was for a contest but I didn't finish it in time. What can I say? I love runaway!Blackwater. _

* * *

**Passing By**  
 **(all the monsters in my head)**

* * *

 _take me for a spin_  
 _two wolves in the dark, running in the wind_  
 _i'm letting go, but i've never felt better_

 ** _slow and steady_** ** _— of monsters and men_**

* * *

 _'If you're so upset about gender confusion, Leah… How do you think the rest of us like looking at Sam through your eyes? It's bad enough that Emily has to deal with_ your _fixation. She doesn't need us guys panting after him, too.'_

 _Pissed as I was, I still felt guilty when I watched the spasm of pain shoot across her face._

 _She scrambled to her feet — pausing only to spit in my direction — and ran for the trees, vibrating like a tuning fork._

 ** _Jacob Black (Eclipse, Epilogue: 'Choice')_**

* * *

 _i._

* * *

The guilt is still an uncomfortable weight in your chest as Leah disappears into the trees. There's a ripple over your skin as she phases, and her following snarl is just as bad as the look on her face had been.

Sam's going to give you absolute hell for it, and you swear to yourself that it's the only reason you get up. Life is _so_ not going to be worth living once he finds out what you've said. Sam is… _strange_ when it comes to Leah; he gives her a little more leeway than you and your brothers, and he comes down real hard when you piss her off.

Hard is running double patrols for a week straight and babysitting the new kids.

 _So_ not worth it.

You sigh loudly before getting up and giving chase. You follow the path of destruction Leah's left behind with her teeth and her claws. She's _fast._ But you're stronger — the strongest of all of the Pack, thanks to your stellar bloodlines — and it's easy to catch up with the grey wolf who has whipped back around and is now snarling and snapping at you. Daring you to phase, to fight, to feel exactly what she's feeling.

No, thanks. You've got enough feelings of your own. Enough of them that you almost wish Leah would rip into you like she really wants to, or that she had pushed you off the edge of the cliff instead of running away.

You aren't friends, you know that. She doesn't owe you anything. But Leah is always good for a rip-roaring fight, and these days she needs as many punching bags as she can get. So you often bite and hurt and snap at each other, because nobody else understands and because nobody really cares.

Nobody else understands being second.

Leah paws angrily at the dirt, like a bull getting ready to charge might. _Phase, you coward_ , you can almost hear her shouting, _or has the leech lover taken your fire, too?_

"I'm sorry," you say, as heartfelt as you can manage. "That was out of line."

Leah growls. _Liar._

She's not wrong, but you say, "Sorry," again because even though you're not, it really _was_ out of line and you don't want to run double shifts. Sam's made you miss out on sleep for less. "Really."

The grey wolf snorts, but at least she stops gearing herself up to charge. She paces the forest floor instead, back and forth, back and forth, until she's calmed down just enough to stop growling and spitting behind her teeth.

And you wait until she's calmed down because… Well. You don't really know why you wait. It's all you've done recently, you suppose. Waiting for something that's not going to happen. Waiting for someone to tell you that the last few months have been a joke. Waiting for Bella.

But you're not going to wait any more. You've made your mind up already — had cemented your decision up on that cliff. You're not going to wait, but neither can you stick around.

You're leaving.

You have to. Bella is _everywhere._ She's in the garage — your only safe haven, once — and she's in your room and the bike you rebuilt and the tyre tracks around your house. She's in Charlie, who's as much as part of the furniture as your dad is. And she calls you. All. The. Time.

You can't do it. You thought you could. Let her go. Watch her get married. Take her bloodsucker down and _burn_ him when her heart stops beating and her eyes turn red.

But you can't, so you're leaving. Taking the coward's way out and doing your best not to give a damn. You just don't want Sam to dish out any kind of punishment before you change your mind. Before any of your brothers _hear_ your mind and try to change it for you.

Finally, Leah _stops_. She sits on her haunches in front of you with a huge, hot huff, and she cocks her head.

"What?" you snap, but there's no heat, no fire to your voice. Just defeat and exhaustion. You can't remember the last time you slept more than three hours straight.

Leah simply stares, her light brown eyes curious as she considers you. Like she's trying to figure you out.

She won't phase and talk, you know that. She's shredded her clothes, her shoes, and she quite happily sinks her canines into anyone who so much as looks at her bare butt, whether they can help it or not.

(You might have lost your fire recently, but Leah has enough to keep the whole Pack running for a hundred years. More.)

You won't phase, either. She'll _definitely_ sink her canines into you when she finds out you're leaving — fine, when you're _running away_. All because of a broken heart.

Broken hearts are a sore subject with Leah. _Imprint_ wins against _leech_ in her book, so she won't let you off easy, and she's always thought of you as a little bit pathetic anyway — even before everything went to shit. You're just Rach and Beck's little brother, to her.

"So are we good?" you ask. There's no point in hanging around.

Leah rolls her eyes and snorts again. _Whatever, kid,_ is what she'd say. _I won't tell Sam, if that's what you mean._

It's about as good as you're gonna get. You stammer something that sounds like thanks, maybe, and you get gone before she figures out what you're doing.

About a quarter of a mile later, you realise she's following you.

In a few weeks, you'll wonder whether that's how it started.

* * *

Billy's acting weird. He follows you around the house, his wheelchair squeaking as he rambles about something and nothing.

Leah's still outside, hovering around the treeline. You can hear her quiet breathing.

You ignore them both as you pack your bag. Try to, anyway — your dad is obviously building up to something, and you sort of want to know what it is before you go.

"Spit it out, Dad," you eventually tell him after you pick up your toothbrush.

He reaches for an ivory envelope which he's kept hidden between his leg and the side of his chair.

"There's a note inside that's addressed to you," he says carefully, as if it might convince you to take it from him. "I didn't read it." And then, after a palpable silence, "You probably don't need to read it. Doesn't matter what it says."

Stupid reverse psychology. Nice try. "I don't want it."

"Jake…"

"I'm serious." You can smell that… _stench_ clinging to the envelope from here. You know what it is, and who it's from, and you don't want it. "Anyway️, you're right. It doesn't matter what it says."

You bury who-knows how many pants into your duffel bag and zip it up a little bit too forcefully.

"I gotta go." You feel bad for leaving him, but Old Quil will be round this afternoon and Sue's been over every morning for the past week. She's trying to perfect Harry's fish fry, and Billy is a more than willing test subject. He'll be fine. "Sorry."

Your dad is a little bit pissed and a whole lot of sad as you walk out of the door, bag over your shoulder and the keys to the Rabbit digging into your palm.

You've left the sling and the crutches behind. No need to keep up the whole 'motorcycle accident' lie anymore.

* * *

There's only one road that leads in and out of La Push. Drive all the way down the one-ten for a while and you'll reach your first crossroads. Right will take you towards Forks, left will take you towards Port Angeles.

You pull over before you get there.

You have no idea where you're going.

* * *

After a while of not going anywhere, the passenger door is flung open.

"What the—" You may as well have screamed like a girl. " _Oh_ , for the love of…" Great. Just great. " _Leah!_ Be more careful, would you!"

Leah scoffs and shakes her head as she falls into the seat. "Boys and their toys."

"The Rabbit is not a _toy,_ " you protest indignantly, heart still in your mouth. You've spent _months_ building this car, _months_ working for every single part (not counting the one instance of blackmail from your dad when he'd given you twenty bucks and a promise to get you the master cylinder you needed, provided you went to Bella's prom).

Leah snickers. "Not _this_ Rabbit."

"Know much about that, do you?" you snap.

Her skin flushes underneath the dome light which quickly dies after she shuts the door. Not with embarrassment, but with irritation. Serves her right.

"So," she says conversationally after half a minute of her looking at you like _that_ again — like she's studying you, "where ya' going?"

You turn your eyes back onto the road and scowl. "Nowhere."

"Yeah? Sounds fun." She opens the door again and reaches down, and when she turns back, to your absolute horror, she's brandishing a frayed backpack. "Let's go then."

What? Is she actually—

"No," you say immediately. "Nuh-uh. No. Way."

Not happening.

"Oh, okay," she says with that same tone, "I suppose I'll just go call Sam then and—"

" _No!"_

Leah grins and throws her bag on the back seat. It lands right next to yours. Meanwhile, your outrage is still written all over your face.

"Why do _you_ want to come with _me?"_

She shrugs and settles into the seat. "S'not like I've got anything better to do. Anywhere to be."

You stare until she caves.

"Okay, okay. As soon as I heard you say goodbye to your old man I went and packed my own bag. I figured that if _you_ can just walk away, then so can I. Besides, you're only, like, twelve—"

"Sixteen," you correct.

"—and you can't even drive—"

"I can."

"—and if you're swanning off to have a breakdown then I kind of want front seats. It'll be more fun than being centre stage of my own—"

You cut her off with a growl and start the engine.

* * *

 _What You Waiting For?_ plays on the radio. It's the kind of music Embry likes — new wave _crap_ — and Leah hums it under her breath all the way to Port Angeles.

* * *

You reach the bank just before closing and both write checks to yourselves, pooling together her college fund and your pitiful savings from working on engines around the Rez.

Nine-thousand and twenty-six dollars in total. Less than eight hundred of that is yours.

"I don't care," she says when she sees how uncomfortable you are. You've never been one for handouts; your dad would fall out of his chair if he knew what Leah's done, what she's giving away. Nevermind Sue — that woman would twist _both_ your necks.

"What about college?" you ask. You hadn't thought she had _that_ much saved up…

"Not my style." She shrugs. "I was only going to U-Dub because of…" She takes a breath, steadies herself. "Well, I'm not anymore. And I don't want to, alright? I never really wanted to do all of that. That was always _his_ dream. Rachel's too, I guess. But not mine, so don't worry."

(Rach and Beck always had a plan. Granted they might not have stuck with it for long before moving onto the next greatest idea, but each and every scheme revolved around getting out of La Push. A beauty salon in Port Angeles, college in New York, a fashion set-up in Seattle… Whatever they planned, it always ended up with them being far, far far away — even before your mom died.

It seems that Leah's plan is much the same.)

"Consider it a charitable donation," she continues, "to the newly founded Runaway Foundation. No, that's shit. What about The Society for… the Protection and Rehabilitation of Captive Wolves? Or is that a bit of a mouthful?"

She carries on prattling off names for your new 'club' until you hit the interstate.


	2. ii

_ii._

* * *

In Montana, Leah has you stop at the first 24-hour Walmart she sees. You wait outside, drumming your fingers on the steering wheel, waiting, watching, ignoring the pounding in your head which has just started up.

It's two o'clock in the morning. You'll need to stop soon.

Leah comes out looking triumphant, and she flashes you that trademark shit-eating grin of hers when she gets in the car. "Sam's pissed."

"How do you know?"

"Does your head hurt?"

You nod. And then… "Wait, you think that's _him_?"

"Sure it is. Feels the same as when I ignored his calls before. I collapsed once, when I didn't turn up for patrol, did you know? Scared the living shit out of my mom." Leah huffs. "Three guesses what _she_ thought was happening."

(You've seen Harry collapse — _die —_ in both Leah and Seth's minds. Over and over and over, as if you had been there too. Just like they have watched your own worst memories.)

"I guess you've always listened to him, though, so he's never had to pull his freaky Alpha shit on you before. Or maybe he just didn't want to, in case you turned all Alpha on _his_ ass."

You ignore that — it's not just Bella you're running from — and you start the engine.

* * *

The motel you eventually park at a few hours later is small and unquestionably cheap; it's shabby and makes your nose itch, but not like the smell of a bloodsucker does. It'll do.

It'll _have_ to do. You have no idea where you're going or how long you're going to be doing it for, and there's two of you to think about now. The less money you spend, the further you can go.

You collapse into your separate beds still wearing the clothes you left in, and you sleep for thirteen sweet, dreamless and totally uninterrupted hours.

* * *

It doesn't take long to find out what it was that Leah bought at the store.

"Why have you got latex gloves?" you ask, voice thick with sleep but wary nonetheless. Over her bed is an array of brushes, sprays, and boxes and boxes of things you sort of wish you'd not seen.

Leah doesn't snort, she doesn't smile. She's concentrating, her hands on her hips as she stares down at her haul. "I'm dying my hair," she says, as if it's obvious. "Well, bleaching it. At least I think that's what I have to do first."

It all goes straight over your head — which, coincidentally, is no longer hurting. "Why? We're not on the run."

Leah finally looks at you sprawled over the mattress and rolls her eyes. "I know that, Jacob." She drags your name out, but it doesn't sound as unkind as she usually makes it. "And let's face it, your dad and my mom aren't exactly going to put us on a milk carton. But I've always wanted to do this."

There's probably a reason why. Leah always has a reason for the things she does. But you don't ask.

"Rach and Beck dyed their hair once," you recall aloud instead. Prying into Leah's business never got you anywhere fast. "Dad was real mad and made them spend a whole day at school with ginger hair before taking them to the salon."

"I know." Leah's lips twist. "I dared them to do it."

That doesn't surprise you as much as it probably should. "Did you dare Beck to shave Rachel's eyebrows, too?"

"No. Maybe." She picks up the box of hair dye. The pretty smiling model on the front of it is blonde. "Depends which way you look at it."

"Which is…" you prod.

But Leah just makes this... _ugh_ sound and rocks on the balls of her feet. "Fuck it. I'm just gonna do it. You can't stop me." She shoves everything back into her shopping bag and marches into the bathroom.

When you're finally permitted access to the shower, there's no hot water and there are streaks of dye everywhere.

It's almost like living with your sisters again.

* * *

When you leave the motel, Leah's hair isn't ginger, or green, like you sort of wished it would be. You could have done with the laugh. It's a dark blonde and actually looks kind of nice, if a little startling — in a 'I am a total badass' kind of way. You tell her as much, because Dad says girls want to be told these things.

"No it doesn't," she snaps. She sinks down in the passenger seat with a foul look and pulls her black hood over her head. "It looks stupid."

You bite back a smile. "Why did you do it then?"

"I didn't think it'd look stupid, did I?" She's almost shouting. "Not that _you'd_ know anything about it. You're just a boy."

It's _definitely_ like living with your sisters again.

* * *

That evening, Leah tells you to go into the drugstore and get her a pair of scissors.

After a lengthy conversation with the girl behind the counter who batted her eyelashes and smoothed her hair down _a lot_ , you go back to Leah with something called 'toner' and a pack of those frightening gloves.

"Oh," the girl — Alyssa — had said, when you'd asked what to do when a DIY hair-job went wrong (which you still think doesn't look that bad). She'd looked at your hair, then pulled herself up from the counter she'd candidly been leaning across and turned a little standoffish.

Girls.

But she'd begrudgingly helped you, so you made sure to thank her and even waved through the window after you left.

You throw the box at Leah. "You need to use an ash colour _._ Stay away from anything with _honey_ or _golden_ in the name," you tell her. You're practically an expert now, after all. "And don't use bleach — it _really_ dries out your hair."

* * *

Leah never does thank you you for not buying scissors like she asked, but she doesn't seem to shout at you so much anymore.

It's good enough.

* * *

Somewhere deep in Minnesota, the headaches get so bad that you spend hours shaking from head to toe. You tremble so violently that you watch, kind of absently, as your hands blur around the edges.

In the bathroom, where she's been holed up for just as long, Leah retches loudly into the sink.

These are the consequences of your choice.

 _Phase_ , the call orders over and over and over. Sam's call. Your Alpha. _Obey._

You hold onto the cheap wood of the cheap dresser in your cheap motel room and, as you coalesce back into yourself for the umpteenth time that minute, you send one word right back.

 _No._

* * *

"I'm not going back," Leah says the next day. She's pale and withdrawn, exhausted after a sleepless night; her eyes are heavy and she's curled up on the passenger seat, watching as your hands shake on the steering wheel.

You haven't _stopped_ shaking. Right now, it seems like you never will.

"I hate him." She presses her face into the headrest and moans. "I _hate_ him," she spits vehemently. "I'm _never_ going back."

When you put your foot down, she knows you feel the same.

* * *

You lose track of how long you're on the road. Your life is now marked by how many miles you can travel in a day, how many states you have wandered around or simply passed through.

Leah loves Chicago. You hate it. You love Philadelphia. She hates it. But you both love Nashville, where you stay for six whole days.

You've discovered that while Leah can sing practically every lyric of the newest pop songs on the radio, she has a deep-rooted love for country music. It's all thanks to Harry, she admits, and so you let her drag you by the hand to all the sights without complaint. You don't even so much as mock her when she cries a few tears outside the Opry, because Harry always wanted to see it and because you understand what missing a parent is like.

Leah misses her dad more than she will ever admit out loud, because her guilt and her sorrow forbid her to.

You understand that, too. Even to this day, you miss your mom so much that, sometimes, you forget to breathe.

* * *

Your love for cars began when your dad started letting you in the garage to watch him work.

 _As soon as you can see over the hood,_ he'd promised you, _you can help me._

You'd wished to grow up faster. Not so much that you'd have grey hair like Old Quil — who was _ancient_ — but just enough that your dad would trust you. That he'd stop treating you like a baby.

Finally, finally, one lazy Sunday afternoon, he'd let you get your hands dirty. He'd fished out an old red, rusty toolbox he no longer used and given you your first spanner. _To keep_. And then he'd shown you how to change the oil.

Two days later, your mom died in a car crash.

* * *

Some weeks later (or months, you wouldn't know) you're in Arizona and you visit the San Carlos Reservation. When you're not staring west, as if you can see all the way to Phoenix, you notice the way Leah tips her head up to the blazing sun and smiles.

"I like it here," she says, but you've already turned back to the horizon. You suppose that you might like it here too if you could stop thinking about Bella, about how your best friend will miss this kind of warmth after her eyes turn red. About how, when that happens, she's not going to _be_ your best friend anymore.

Suddenly Leah grabs your hand and pulls you away, as if it's obvious she knows what you're thinking. She turns you around and drags you across the dry plains and up the mountains, and she makes you walk and walk until the sun starts to set.

When you fall into bed that night, your clothes still on, you don't think of Phoenix or red eyes. Just how bone-tired you are, and how grateful you are for it.

You have a vague notion of somebody starting to pull off your boots, but you're asleep before they hit the floor.

* * *

Leah's dark roots are growing out by the time you wind up in Tampa Bay. You strayed a little too close to Washington, so you ended up driving all the way to the other side of the country where it's safe, where you can breathe freely.

You'll only stay a night, maybe even two. Apart from your week in Tennessee, you never stay anywhere any longer than that.

But then the Rabbit rolls to a stop on the hard shoulder, spluttering and smoking, and both your hearts miss a beat.

* * *

Leah sits behind the wheel as you push the Rabbit for _twenty-one_ miles. She sings the whole way.

* * *

"It's the drive belt," you explain when you get to a garage. Having to do so irritates you to no end; if you had your tools then you could fix it yourself, instead of having to tell somebody else.

The mechanic looks at you like he sees self-proclaimed grease monkeys like you every single day — people who think they know what they're talking about — but, so what, he's going to indulge you for a little bit. He'll let you think you're right until you give him the chance to make you look a fool, like he probably does with his other customers.

But you _are_ right. You _do_ know what you're doing about because you _are_ a grease monkey. The smell of dirty, thick engine oil calms you down like nothing else.

You're forced to watch as the other guy puts his hands into the Rabbit's engine. _Your_ engine that _you_ built and _you_ lost sleep over.

You wait.

And then the mechanic stands, wipes his hands on his overalls, and huffs.

"It's your drive belt," he says.

Leah laughs.


	3. iii

_iii._

* * *

The new drive belt sets you back by seventy-two dollars. But you don't have to pay for the cost of labor; Leah sidles up to the mechanic and smiles prettily, in a way you've not really seen before, and he offers to let you use everything on his workbench so long as he can take her out for a late lunch.

"You're not — like, _together_ or anything though, are you?"

Leah laughs again and tucks her hair behind an ear. It shows off her face, but then she's probably well aware of that. Of the effect she's having on this douchebag. "No."

The guy gives you a pointed look and then grins. "Thought not."

He — _Robbie,_ tells you to say that he's on a break in case anyone calls in. Don't accept any jobs, just take a name, a number, keep your head down.

"Won't be long," he says. You don't like the way he winks when he says it, and you look at Leah but she just shrugs it all off with that same smile on her face.

They go; you stay.

Well. You guess it keeps his hands off the Rabbit, and Leah wanted to go, so you breathe in the smell of oil, the smell of metal and familiarity and you begin. It's almost like you're back in your garage.

Almost.

* * *

Later on, thirty miles or so away, the Rabbit's running like a dream. You really need to start taking better care of it if this is going to last — whatever _this_ is becoming. Either until Leah changes her mind and wants to go home, or until you run out of money.

You've stretched every dollar where you can. You camp outside when it's warm enough, you regularly abuse the cheapest gas station you can find, and you go without air-con because it empties the tank that little bit faster.

Tonight, though, you really want a shower. And Leah _needs_ one, desperately; you can smell that guy on her, even if you haven't phased since you left home. Your senses are still as sharp as they were back then. Maybe they always will be.

(When they came back to the garage, you quickly realised that _late lunch_ definitely meant _something else._ )

You pull into the motel just before dark. You and Leah haven't spoken, and that's fine — sometimes you spend hours without talking, simply content to do nothing else but keep on moving. As long as you're going somewhere, somewhere _away_ then it doesn't seem to matter.

You get all the way to your room before she breaks the silence.

"Are you alright, Jake?"

"Hm? Yeah. Sure."

You kick off your boots, drop onto the bed nearest the window and put your hands behind your head. After an afternoon underneath the hood of the best car in the world — _your_ car — you feel more relaxed than you have in weeks.

"You're being weird."

You think it's the other way around, actually, but then what do you know? You didn't really know Leah before she invited herself along. As someone of the same Pack, the same tribe, yes. As a friend, no. Not really.

One-night stands. Dying her hair. Flirting. The feel of the sun's warmth on her face. You didn't know she liked any of that.

"And you smell," you tell her, staring up at the ceiling which is cracked and peeling. Cheap motel, cheap room. "Don't use all the hot water, will you?"

She scoffs nastily and slams the bathroom door behind her.

That's the Leah you know.

* * *

She comes back out while you're mindlessly flicking through the local channels on the TV. No cable. Go figure.

Leah stands in front of your bed, blocking the screen. The dye is disappearing from her hair more and more with every wash. She scrubs at it with a towel, glaring at you the whole time.

"I didn't think you'd have a problem with it," she says eventually.

"I don't," you reply, because it's true. "But he was a real ass, and you know it."

" _So?_ "

"So I thought you were better."

Leah growls. "You are not my Alpha, _Jacob Black_." She spits your name. "You could have been, but you didn't want to be. That's partly why we're here after all, isn't it?"

You turn your eyes back to the ceiling. "You don't have to be here. I would have been just fine."

"Sure. Whatever. Maybe you would have." She throws the wet towel to the floor. "But I _want_ to be here. You were going, and I wanted to leave. And if you remember, you didn't put up much of a fight."

She's got you there.

"But just because I followed you doesn't mean I answer to you," she continues raving. "I don't answer to anyone. Not anymore. So if I want to do something then I'm gonna do it. And you can't stop me."

You sit up. " _Why_ do you always say that?"

Leah frowns, thrown off from her ranting. "What?"

"' _You can't stop me,'"_ you quote, not sure whether she's recently started saying this or if you've just not really noticed before — before she decided to dye her hair. "You always say that."

You have a feeling that you might know _why_ she says that _,_ but you don't know why she says it to _you._ You are not Sam. You never will be Sam. She's made that perfectly clear.

Leah looks like she's about to say something — one of her automatic, sarcastic reactions which she rarely ever filters, not even for family, but this time she stops herself and shakes her head. Her damp hair sticks to her face.

"We need new toothbrushes," she mumbles, and leaves.

She doesn't come back until the sun's rising. You don't dare ask her where your new toothbrush is.


	4. iv

_iv._

* * *

Leah isn't one to make apologies, so you know better than to expect one. The day that Leah Clearwater says she's sorry is the day Taha Aki comes out of the forest after seven hundred years.

You apologise, though. Not because you think you're a better person or because you regret what you said to her. You apologise because, well, despite everything you _are_ glad that she is here with you. And you want her to stay. You might have given up a long time ago without her.

(You might not have even reached as far as the end of La Push Road if she hadn't packed a bag of her own and followed you, but you don't tell her that.)

When you try to make her understand how you feel without sounding like a total idiot, she brushes off your words. But you can see that it's meant something to her — that you said it.

Then, you thank her.

Leah blinks, stunned. She isn't surprised easily. "What for?"

"For coming back this morning. I didn't know if you would."

"Not like I got anywhere else to go," she mutters, turning away, but the words are half-hearted, lacking her usual heat. And they might be true, but you're still grateful that she didn't skip town without you.

"Although…" Leah looks back with a wicked smile, already returning to herself. "If you really want to thank me… maybe you could let me drive."

Before you lose your nerve, before you think about it too much (because it's _the Rabbit,_ the coolest car in the world), you throw her the keys.

You owe her, after all.

"Go easy on the clutch. Actually, just — just go easy on everything, yeah? _Please_."

Leah laughs. "Jeez. Get a grip, Jake."

And just like that, things go back to normal.

Normal for you two, anyway.

* * *

You can go a week before the headaches start again. Sometimes the peace only lasts a day, maybe even less than that. But what matters is that you keep on going.

What matters is that you don't give in. You won't. You can't.

So you go to Tallahassee. Biloxi. New Orleans. Beaumont. Houston. San Antonio. And when you get to San Diego, you go all the way back again.

Anywhere but north. Anywhere that's not within a thousand miles of La Push.

Anywhere Bella is not. Anywhere Sam is not.

Anywhere but _there_.

* * *

At the back of a diner in Atlanta, where it's quiet, you and Leah sit opposite each other. Wordlessly you empty your pockets, your bags, your wallets.

Looking at the table you're both very nearly sick.

"What do we do?" she whispers.

You don't know.

It's early September, which means three things.

Bella is married. It's nearly her birthday (if she's even counting them anymore). And _that_ means, after doing all you can to not think about _that_ — about _her_ — it's been almost three months since you left home.

Leah caught glance of a newspaper late this morning, and you tripped over your own feet when she told you what the date was. She didn't even laugh. She just pushed you towards the first place she saw, ordered two coffees and started fishing out all the cash she had. You immediately started doing the same.

You don't understand. You should, really — because _of course_ the money was going to run out — but you just can't. You've been _so careful._ You thought you'd have longer.

You have less than two thousand dollars between you. And you count it again, and again, but it never changes.

Shit.

Two thousand dollars is a lot of money, sure, but with how much you're spending on gas (the Rabbit is not cheap) and on food (your appetites aren't cheap, either), you can't go on much longer. And you won't be able to sleep outside forever.

"Jake," Leah says, her voice more urgent this time. " _What do we do now?_ "

"I don't know." Saying the words out loud are hard. "I mean, I was never going to get this far. Not on my own — I knew that. I was always going to have to go back sometime… or just try and live as a wolf, I don't know."

Leah huffs. "Well. I'll tell you right now we're not doing that. Anything but _that_."

You try to smile, but it feels a little awful on your face. "What part? Going back, or going native?"

"Neither, if we can manage it."

You sit back and wish you could sink into your seat. "What else is there?"

Leah hastily gathers all the money together; it's lunchtime, and the diner is slowly filling up. She's quiet for a while, obviously chewing something over in her head as she clears up.

Maybe she wants to go home. Maybe she doesn't. You try to imagine both: seeing the Reservation again – your family – or sticking it out with Leah for as long as you can manage.

You don't have to think too hard about what you know you _should_ do and what you _want_ to do.

Finally Leah closes her bag and leans forward. "What if we call home?"

"I'd rather ask that dirtbag in Tampa Bay for a job than—"

"I didn't mean that," she says quickly, although something softens in her face when she realises what you're planning to do. Get a job, keep this going. At whatever cost. For the both of you. "I meant call home, see what the deal is. The leeches might have moved on. Bella might be..." She pulls a face — at the name, or what might have happened. Or both. "Well, you know. She might not have come back after the wedding. And if she didn't, the other suckers might have left, too."

"And if she hasn't? If she… If _they_ haven't left Forks?"

"We beg that dirtbag in Tampa Bay for jobs," Leah suggests with a smile. "I'd rather beg someone else, though."

You manage a real smile back.

* * *

"What about you?" you ask when you find a payphone.

"What about me?"

You put your hand on the phone, stopping Leah from picking it up and doing what you're both dreading. "You left too, you know. You hesitated about as much as I did before packing a bag."

"So?" Leah shrugs, as ready to talk about her own problems as she ever is.

You roll your eyes. "Do you want to go home?"

"Do you?" she shoots back. Smart ass.

" _Leah._ "

She sighs and leans against the wall. "I don't know, Jake, alright? I... I miss home. I miss the Rez, but I don't miss _them_ , y'know? I don't miss the pack. And I _don't_ miss Sam. But I know that we can't run forever. I wish that we could, but we just _can't_." She looks sad. "You understand?"

"Yeah," you say, because you really do, "I know."

You relent when she bats your hand away from the phone. Instead you hold your breath and start hoping that nobody will answer.


	5. v

_v._

 _the end_

* * *

You heard the whole conversation, of course, but you still listen to Leah with rapt attention as she recites every single word Seth said to her.

He had answered on the fourth ring, and Leah had put her head against the cool glass of the phone booth, looking as if she had finally surrendered to whatever it was she had been fighting.

(You needn't have worried about hearing Billy's gravelly tones, about Leah seeing yet more weakness from you, because he didn't answer.)

Leah had held the phone away from her ear as Seth had yelled and yelled at her — glad that she was alive, angry that she had left, excited that she'd finally called. And in between that, there had been a full minute of the two of you just staring at one another, unable to do anything other than smile as the kid on the other end of the line had jabbered on without taking a breath.

You wouldn't have thought it, but you've actually missed Seth, and you know Leah has too. More than she lets on.

She babbles almost as much as her brother had whilst you aimlessly walk together, until eventually you drop onto one of the benches in the small park you've wandered into. There are a group of kids nearby playing tag, and Leah pulls her legs up and watches them over her knees.

"So," she says conversationally after a while. She's relayed everything else her brother said, and this part is all that's left. "She went through with the wedding."

"Yeah."

"They didn't go back. After. And the rest of the bloodsuckers have moved on."

"Yeah."

The thought makes you feel queasy, because that means… well, you both know what that means. Eternal honeymoon. Eternal everything. But what that means for you, you're not sure — except for one thing. What happens next.

Leah's the first to say it.

"I guess that means we are. Going back, I mean."

"I guess. We don't have to."

A sigh escapes her as she stretches her legs out. "We've talked about this. We have to go back. You know we do."

Leah's disappointed, maybe almost as much as you are, but she's right. You've both already resigned to this not being able to go on forever. And now that the thing you've been running from is no longer there, you can't hide anymore.

Leah, on the other hand… You feel bad for her, because she's become your unlikely friend after she invited herself along and because you understand each other's pain now. It's not changed any, the pain – it's the more or less same as it was before, but neither of you wanted to try to understand back then.

"Well, shit," she says. "I'm pretty sure my mom's not gonna let me off the Rez 'til I'm fifty after all this."

That makes you laugh in spite of your own disappointment, because you don't believe that. Well, maybe that Sue will _try_ , yes. Not that Leah will listen. Not for a second.

Leah frowns. "What's funny?"

"You used to get grounded for sneaking out when you were already grounded. I'm sure you'll figure something out if she gets a little crazy on you."

She manages a smile of her own. "Maybe we can go to Seattle, or something. Port Angeles. For old time's sake, when it gets rough. You know." She shrugs. "If you want. Patrols are probably going to lighten up now, and all."

"Sure," you say. "We're friends, right?"

It's surprised both of you, but it's true.

Her smile is wider this time. "Right."

* * *

You don't go back straight away. La Push is almost three thousand miles away, after all, and you might be running out of cash but you're not exactly dead broke yet.

You leave the park, find the Rabbit, and slowly head west.

There's no rush.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** _Sorry it took so long to wrap up!_


	6. vi

**_A/N:_** _Weave the Magic — it might be half a year or so too late, but as you asked . . ._

* * *

 _vi._

 _after_

* * *

It's the last day of September. The Rabbit is running idly outside of the Clearwater's house and has been for the last ten minutes, because you've promised Leah that you'll stick around for a little bit in case she needs to make a hasty exit again.

She hasn't told you as much (in fact, she hardly tells you anything about herself – you've gotten used to that) but you know she's been worried about facing Sue after being gone for so long without warning. You feel the same way about going home to your dad, so you understand why Leah asked you to keep the engine running. That, and nobody in their right mind is _not_ scared of Sue Clearwater. She is the only person in the world who Leah has a hard time going up against.

After another five minutes, Leah ducks out of the front door and jogs over to your open window. She's not bleeding or anything, and she's on two legs, not four, so you figure everything went as well as it could have.

Neither of you have phased in the months since before you left La Push. You have no idea how you've done it, how either of you have gotten away without losing your temper to the point of splitting your skin, but... well, you have. Despite the headaches and the sickness and how miserable you felt in the early days when Sam tried to force you home, you've managed to keep your feet on the ground for well over three months.

Leah, too. She leans on the roof of the Rabbit. "Your turn, kid."

No, thanks. "What did your mom say?"

"Nothing I didn't deserve. S'all good." Leah pushes her hair back from her face. It seems like she wants to laugh at the expression on your face; you're always stumped by how blasé she is, but you can't help it. Sue's probably given her absolute hell for skipping town and here she is just simply shrugging it off.

"Hey," she says, grabbing your wandering attention. "It'll be fine, you know. You want me to come with you?"

"No, it's fine."

If Leah can survive Sue's rage, you can survive being sent on a guilt trip by your old man. And like she said, whatever's coming is no more than you deserve. You've been gone a long time.

Best to get it over with. You huff a breath and put the Rabbit into gear, but Leah stays right where she is.

"Call me later, okay?" she asks.

It's your turn to laugh. "Seriously?"

Whatever the joke is, Leah doesn't get it. "Well, yeah. Why not?"

"Okay," you tell her, still amused. "Sure. I'll call you."

She nods and finally steps back from the car, looking as if she's won something.

But still the idea of _you_ calling _Leah_ later, because _why_ _not_ , has you laughing as you reverse off her land. Maybe you are really friends after all. You've both said so, you've both agreed, but despite all of that you suppose you hadn't really let yourself believe it. There was always that chance that things would go back to the way they always were between you before left.

Leah waves as you drive away, and you wave back with a strange feeling in your stomach and a funny smile on your face as you go.

* * *

It's not Billy who gives you a hard time. It's Rachel. The nerd graduated early and has been home for nearly as long as you've been gone.

While your dad acts the pathetic referee in the corner, dodging each play with practised skill gained from years of parenting, your sister rages for nearly two hours. And to begin with you take it in silence because Rach doesn't understand — she doesn't know why you really left, and you will never be able to tell her. That is until you find out that _Paul fucking Lahote_ has imprinted on her and she's now part of the pack.

All bets are off. You fight with her like you've never fought before until, lo-and-fucking-behold, Paul walks in. He doesn't knock, doesn't wipe his feet. He has the gall to smile in the midst of the battlefield — you can't remember him ever _smiling_ at you — and says, "Hey, man, what's up?"

You break his nose.

Rachel lunges for you, incensed by the affront to her wolf, and for a second you think this is what it might be like if your sisters had never left. Three female wolves in Leah, Rach and Becca would have undoubtedly seen the end of Sam's reign, and it has you so amused that you let Rachel bruise her knuckles on your face. You know, to teach her a lesson and all — but you seem to have salvaged enough of yourself and your humanity whilst on the road that you feel momentarily guilty when she doubles-over in pain, fist cradled against her chest.

Oops.

But it _is_ funny when Paul chases you half-way across the reservation (because imprints are _really_ weird), although he doesn't follow when you dart over fading boundary lines and into the leeches' territory. Even now they are gone it seems old pack habits die hard.

"Too slow!" you yell.

Paul shouts just about every obscenity he can think of, and you know there will be absolute hell to pay when you go back. But you can only laugh, and think that you can't wait to tell Leah.

* * *

"You broke his nose."

Several hours later, you are still revelling in your victory and your smile remains triumphant. "Yep."

"You _broke_ his _nose,_ " Leah says again, every word slow and deliberate — and sure enough, a smile of her own begins to slowly split across her face, too. "That's _awesome_. Did Rachel lose her shit? Please tell me she lost her shit."

"She might have hurt her hand a bit. On my face."

Leah falls back onto the sand as she bursts into laughter, and doesn't stop pestering you for more details until after the sun goes down on First Beach.

Small road trips aside, you make a pact to meet here every day. Leah even has you spit-shake on it.

* * *

"Call me later, yeah?" she asks when you're about to turn off down the opposite road.

"Sure," you say. The words don't seem as strange now.

Leah grins.


End file.
